


Some Bloody Me Time

by PumpkinWrites



Category: RWBY
Genre: "AU" Watts, Blood, Gen, Genderfluid Watts, Not my headcanons for Watts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinWrites/pseuds/PumpkinWrites
Summary: In which our favorite unethical doctor finally gets some bloody Me Time.
Kudos: 2





	Some Bloody Me Time

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working my way through a Goretober prompt list, but I've only, so far, managed to complete Day 6, Bloodbath. It's very short, and more of a tableau than a full story, but I had the setting in my head and needed to get it out.
> 
> This is actually a depiction of atlesianic’s Watts, who is genderfluid and periodically presents as female and uses she/her pronouns. I'm not even all that confident in my traditional depiction of Watts, but I made a joke about using Atlas' for this prompt and Atlas said “do it” and I had no choice but to. I really hope I did a good job even though it's so short. o ~ o

The dim, warm bathroom glows a soft, sort of pale orange from the flickering candles on the countertops and shelves, and on the wall-side of the tub. They’re battery-powered candles, not that wonderful for the aesthetic, but better for the safety of everyone involved, particularly that of the fat, irritable old cat walking around the bathroom in search of the best spot to nap while her person bathes. The last thing anyone wants is for her to catch her tail on fire, or knock over a lit candle because it happens to be resting right where she currently wants to be.

Her person hums to herself, largely ignoring the cat for the moment and setting a cube of lilac-scented wax onto the glass tray of the melter resting on the counter beneath the mirror. It’s so rare lately that she gets time for herself, but she’s found it for the first time in a long time, and she intends to utilize it to the fullest. Thus, the door is locked, her scroll is docked into the speaker on one of the vanity shelves and playing soft, classical music, the nice, soft towels are hung on their racks in easy reach of the tub, and the bath is slowly filling with water. She’s already added the epsom salts, they do nothing for her joints or anything else, but it’s a habit that she _just_ can’t seem to break. She’ll add her other favorites as the water fills up.

The cat meows impatiently, waiting for her person to step into the tub and settle down and stop walking around the bathroom, so that she can continue her search for a place to nap completely unobstructed. Her complaints are acknowledged with a scratch behind her ears and a quiet, throaty chuckle from her person. “Oh I know, darling, I’m taking so long, aren’t I?”

“ _Meow_.”

“Is that right?” she asks idly, plucking one of the jars from the counter and opening it, letting the sweet scent of roses drift out of it as she scoops a little out with her fingers to apply rather liberally to her face. Those same delicate fingers, once quickly rinsed at the sink, pluck two near-frozen gel packs shaped like cucumber slices from the small, glass bowl of ice they’d been resting in to stay chilled. She keeps them in one palm as she continues her wandering, unhurried path around the bathroom.

Theatrics are, normally, more or less Tyrian’s style, but even she can appreciate a certain aesthetic when it comes to her self-care rituals. Such as keeping her preferred bath additives in antique crystal jars and bottles far older than not only her, but most likely her _grandparents_. She opens one of these bottles and pours the contents into the rising, gently-steaming water with just a bit of a flourish, emptying it into the bath, and even filing it slightly from the tap and swirling it to get out the last of the deep, red liquid within. She can’t help but sigh as the water turns dark and the smell of copper fills the room, for a moment even overpowering the lilac from the wax melt and the mint on her face, and she gives a small smile.

She’ll have to thank Hazel for contributing: he’s so helpful.

He had actually asked her once what adding blood to her bathwater did, and it had actually amused Her Grace to hear him ask: the doctor knows very well that The Queen Herself once enjoyed the same bit of luxury, a very long time ago. The reason hadn’t surprised Hazel in the slightest, once he’d received his answer and she’d explained it to him: it actually does _nothing,_ fundamentally, but it just makes her feel _powerful_. And it doesn’t stain her synthetic flesh, not really, and she’s always careful to use a body scrub (gently, of course, so as not to risk any damage to her skin) to further prevent the chance of even discoloration. So as long as she’s got access, why _shouldn’t_ she be allowed to indulge every now and then?

The tub jets are clicked to life, mixing the blood with the water, (it had taken so long to collect enough extra blood for a nice soak, but it’s well worth it) and a bath bomb is dropped almost carelessly into the tub, making the bloody water fizz and muddling it further with just a hint of a shimmer. She loosens her robe and removes it, hanging it from the hook beside the tub before finally shutting off the water and stepping in, sinking down into the warm water with a sigh. She sets the gel packs into place over her eyes as she closes them, smiling a bit more warmly when she hears the cat _finally_ settle down nearby. She reclines against the back wall of the tub, just letting the warmth of the water and air and the smells of copper and lilac and roses and the sounds of strings and piano from the speakers on the counter all just wash over her.

 _Perfect_.


End file.
